


Concerto in 3 parts

by phantomas (sil)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Established Relationship, M/M, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 20:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sil/pseuds/phantomas
Summary: Based on a prompt generously shared by Aly-with-a-y on the Winteriron Discord





	Concerto in 3 parts

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt generously shared by Aly-with-a-y on the Winteriron Discord

**OVERTURE**

 

“I can't. The list is...too much. Too many people. _Too open_.”

 

The official invite to the NEW YORK OPERA CHARITY EVENT was printed on heavy card, embossed in gold and purple, and made for a satisfactory projectile smashing against the opposite wall.

 

“Yes, you can. We practiced. Smaller outings, I give you that, but still, people around and all that. You know it, I know it. Breathe. We've got two days to go still.”

 

Tony kept himself a few steps away, just out of reach – not that Bucky wasn't totally and murderously capable of reaching out anyway, but Tony wasn't expecting that specific type of violence. Just, he wanted to avoid a knee jerk reaction that would end with him sporting a black eye for a few days and Bucky carrying that tight, guilty look in his eyes for a few days more.

Not to mention Cap emitting waves of worry all over the compound and asking for private conversations that both Bucky and Tony would rather avoid.

They all knew recovery was a slow process. With stops and starts and all the pitfalls of the world in between. They all did their best, even when it wasn't enough.

 

“Wanna talk to your counsellor? Want me to call her? Wanna talk to my counsellor? Want some Chinese? Takeaway? Or we could get a Chinese chef here! I can have the best chef from Red Farm here in 20 minutes, just say-”

 

Bucky took the steps separating him from Tony – fast, because he was always, scarily, fast. Even when shaking and hyperventilating. He pressed his lips on Tony's, firmly. Warm, with just a hint of trembling. Not a long kiss, no tongue, no intrusion. They weren't there yet. But it was all Bucky and Tony smiled into it.

 

“Still the best way to shut you up,” Bucky murmured, moving away again. Space was important. Space would calm that minute quivering there.

 

Tony huffed, but smiled wider. “We have to go,” he said with an apologetic note in his voice.

 

“I know. I know.”

 

“Steve will be there.” It was an offering.

 

Bucky sat on the wide sofa, which he had recently moved in the best corner in the room, all sight lines open to him, and no doors or windows at his back. He dragged his fingers through his hair. Rubbed his face. Tony played his insecurities well, but nothing in Bucky's situation was going to make that better.

 

Recognising the signals of 'danger passed', Tony went to sit near him, a leg curled under himself so he could sit sideways, to look at Bucky. Before he could speak, Bucky looked at him. Too many emotions there to filter just one. That in itself shut Tony down straight away.

 

“I need Steve.” Bucky murmured. “But I need you, too.”

 

 _You know me as I am_ , he said once, to Tony, in a particular serious moment under a torrential rain on the top of Stark's Pentahouse. _Steve knows me as I was_. It was a messy, vicious moment, with words shouted in angry defiance and forgiving whispers almost lost in the rain. And in as much as Tony believed in what they had, believed in Bucky's soft smiles and tentative touches, Steve was still sort of a shadow in the back of Tony's eyes.

 

“I need you too, Tony” Bucky repeated. He was a quiet guy, most of the times, not one for long speeches. But each of his hard-fought-for words was precious, and meaningful. Tony could not, would not resent the easy jokes exchanged with Steve based on glimpses of almost gone memories, because he got this. This broken man who battled each day to be whole. And let Tony see all of it.

 

“You got me. You got me,” Tony said, as the idea took shape in his head, like the first firework on Halloween night.

 

 

 

**CADENZA***

 

Well, it was now or never. It felt interesting, to say the least. The things he'd done in the spur of the moment when he was younger...he never thought of it, it was what it was, and fun at the time. Consequences be damned. (There were lawyers, for that, and PR people.)

 

This? He planned it, in every exquisite detail. Good cause and all that. What was one more headline about the crazy antics of multi-trillionaires, after all.

 

His car stopped and the chauffer opened the door. Bucky and Steve and Nat were in the car behind him. Stark Industries were the main financial supporter of the complete refurbishment of the Opera House and the collateral scholarships for musicians, so Tony had the place of a Guest of Honour. Red carpet and paparazzi and first arrival rights.

 

He was armoured in a splendid, eye-grabbing, heather-coloured, Dolce & Gabbana silk tux**.

The shoes were coordinated.

And jewel-encrusted.

And a good 6” heels.

 

Tony Stark knew how to make an entrance.

 

As soon as he was out of the car, the crowds were silent for a second, still. Then the outpouring started. The flashes from the cameras, iPhones held high, those with microphones jostling for the best place, the first place.

 

Tony waved happily with his hand lifted high, smiled his best camera smile, a flash of white pearly teeth, his perfectly manicured nail – each detail being soaked up and printed in sight, memory and digital cards for posterity.

 

He posed as soon as his feet touched the carpet. Turned on himself, demurely stretched one jewelled shoe-toe in front of the other. His steps were firm, elegant, secure. He clearly did this all the time.

 

Shouts of 'Tony, look here' and 'Mr. Stark, this way!' called for him to show off and strut all along the fenced carpet. He was more than happy to oblige, even striking some Iron Man-typical poses. They should have been all the more incongruous in his present attire, and yet, he was the more elegant for it.

 

The crowds' hunger for his presence was palpable. He could see the headlines already. And Pepper's “what were you thinking” amused reproach. (She was happy for him, he could see it. He liked it. Liked that they were still friends. Liked that she was smiling again and taking care of her 'burning up' problems. Liked that she and Bucky had long, quiet conversations sipping cups of tea and he wasn't allowed in the room).

 

“Mr. Stark, Tony, here,” the microphones were calling for him, and Tony smiled benignly at them, lifting and spreading both arms as he offered himself. A quick glance as he turned in place to give a full view of his attire – and his prowess on the sparkly heels - confirmed that Bucky, Steve and Nat were on the red carpet behind him. There were cameras for them too, but quick, perfunctory. No shouting. No overreaching. No prurient curiosity for the ex-Winter Soldier first official public outing. Bucky looked composed, none of his stress tell-signs visible. Hair combed back, he looked impossibly young.

 

Mission accomplished, Tony thought as the questions and flashes started pummelling him in close-ups.

 

 

**PREMIERE**

 

The whole evening was a whirlwind of faces, wide eyes, grabbing hands, smiling teeth, a plethora of empty words and sounds, politeness masking hunger, and over it all, the facade of the charity event, when most if not all the people pressing in on Tony in between the orchestra performances just wanted a piece of him, and to be able to say 'I was there' the day after.

 

Even though their seats were in the same row, Tony hadn't been able to exchange more than a few scarce words with Bucky, Nat or Steve. You didn't speak during a performance, even Tony would abide by that, out of respect for the musicians' hard work and talent if nothing else.

 

And during the breaks? No chance. He had to fend off or reply jokingly to questions about his shoe size, his favourite stylist, his preferences for stilettos versus block heels - if any – if he would be present at this or that party, what would he dress like then, would he go shopping with this lady or that lady...it was relentless, and no better than being a juicy steak at the meat market.

 

The concert part done and dusted – everyone who was anyone was there to be seen, and now was the time, and Tony was the one to be seen with - now it was the turn of expensive cocktails and canapes, fake pleasantries and mingling.

 

Tony turned a somewhat fixed smile towards the latest attention-seeker, letting his eyes wander until he could see Bucky. There he was, on the periphery of the main crowd in the splendid salon. Steve was a few steps to his side, entertaining a few older gentlemen, and Nat nearby, holding arms with an elegant woman, Countess or Duchess of Something, Tony remembered.

 

Bucky was looking at him. An intent look unfamiliar to Tony. Not the focused sniper look, or the blank look that made Tony shiver within in panic, or the lost, confused look when ordinary, simple things that should have didn't make sense at all.

 

“...and you do it all the time? This is what Mrs. Spencer was telling me, that you two go shoe-shopping in Paris all the time, but I don't remember seeing the Senator's wife...” Tony hummed and nodded in all the right places, not listening to a word of what was being said. Someone laughed out loud near him and he joined in, like the others in this central group he was the fulcrum of. But his eyes kept seeking Bucky.

 

What was wrong. Why was Bucky so still, so concentrated. Tony's plan worked perfectly, all eyes on him and his latest stunt, his outrageous, attention-grabbing outfit and sexily athletic, if he said so himself, posing and strutting on his heels for anyone who asked. Let them think he was at it again, and it worked. Let them think he was grappling with age and over-reacting by fashion statement. The pressure was off Bucky, nothing he couldn't handle with Steve and Nat looking after him discreetly.

 

Tony realised Bucky was moving. Stepping away from his safe spot, and heading directly for Tony. It wasn't the death march of the Winter Soldier, but an equally determined if unassuming walk.

 

What. Why.

 

Tony saw Bucky inhaling quietly, fortifying himself, just before he stepped right in the middle of the crowd surrounding Tony. And then Bucky was pressing at his side. Sliding his left arm around his waist, lightly. Inching his face close, and-

 

The kiss was longer than Tony had previously experienced, with Bucky. There were murmurs and some nervous giggles around them. All he could feel was the firm pressure of Bucky's warm lips, the weird sense of dislocation because in these heels, Tony was actually taller than Bucky, so the angles were all different.

 

Bucky released him, and Tony licked his lips, and Bucky murmured low in his ear, “Tired of sharing you.”

 

Which was possessive and proprietary and for the first time in the whole evening, Tony's knees felt like jelly and thanks all gods Bucky was holding him, or Tony may have stumbled.

 

But Bucky was holding him, tight, so everything was fine.

 

Tony imagined tomorrow's headlines again.

And laughed.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cadenza:  
> A point near the end of a movement in a work such as a concerto where the orchestra will stop playing and the soloist will perform an elaborate passage showing his or her virtuosity on the instrument. Often, at least prior to the 19th century, the composer has not written out this part of the work and it is left to the soloist to improvise. 
> 
>  
> 
> The Suit**  
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/64/e4/e0/64e4e047d663dc38bf8060d28492c879.jpg
> 
> The Shoes 
> 
> Fall/Winter 2016/7  
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/c5/2c/c6/c52cc6d9e903856d4d1d2d196fa79094.png
> 
> or
> 
> https://youstrikemyfancy.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/photo-41.jpg


End file.
